


Teddy Bear

by Bitter_Baristas



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies)
Genre: Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-31 00:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12120681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitter_Baristas/pseuds/Bitter_Baristas
Summary: She wanted to go home, to not be afraid. She wanted to see her family again, but he was her family now. And Jason wasn't letting her go.





	Teddy Bear

Time stopped in this labyrinth of tunnels. She was greasy and her nails scraped from messing with the lock. Whitney's skin was pale from malnourishment, eyes yellowed and hope rapidly fading. She had never been particularly vain, but it was unsettling to watch her once health complexion fade. She sighed and swept her wavy hair back for the umpteenth time to escape the slick feeling of it plastering to her neck. Coughing, she rested her head in her hands. Fever had made it impossible to tell if she was cold or too hot, but Whitney knew one thing for certain: her clothes were soaked in sweat. She desperately wished for a shower and new clothes, to be at home safe in her bed.

She blew a clump of hair out of her eyes irritably, bored. To her side something creaked. Whitney gasped and scooted back, relieved to see it wasn't Jason. Straining to see what had fallen her gaze went too far, to The Tunnel of Death, where Jason dumped the mutilated bodies from his travels. Down in this world apart from Whitney's time the air was thick with rot and no sunlight showed, yet there was always some form of artificial light illuminating the space. Lanterns? She'd never see him lighting candles or lanterns.

Above her bells cried out shrilly, ceasing abruptly.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her quick, labored breaths were almost able to drown out the ruckus Jason caused as he came down the tunnel. Almost. Whitney gave a bark of crazed laughter, eyes sweeping across the dimly lit room. It was funny, how loud he could be when he stalked his victims silently. So why was he bumping and banging into the various objects hanging from the ceiling? Maybe, she thought, it was his form of a greeting to her or the house. A terrifying, "honey, I'm home!"

The girl's stomach dropped and fresh tears stung her eyes. Since when had this hellish place become home? When had Jason—Whitney's heart hammered in her chest and she scrambled into her corner. Standing in the doorway was her captor, legs spread wide, bloody machete in hand and scrutinizing gaze trained on her.

When had the thrill of fear at seeing him mixed with relief?

The teenager purposefully zoned out her while Jason hauled a body past her and threw it along with the other rotting corpses. Whitney's mind wandered to her poor sick mother, probably even sicker with worry. Her daughter had left for a few day trip; it had been weeks. Weeks shackled and terrified. At least three weeks, she guessed, though she had no idea.

Why? This question constantly plagued her. Why had she been dragged away from civilization when her friends were mercilessly killed? What was special about her? The redhead grasped the locket hanging around her neck.

_"She looks like you."_

Whitney had scoffed, but the young mother trapped in the locket had resembled her. She looked like Jason's mother; she knew why she alone had been spared death. Ironically she wished for it now. She wished that she could just know for sure, that if he was going to kill her he'd just get it over with and end her misery. And no matter how she feared it, she really wished he'd just kill her anyway. The idea of asking him, if for no other reason than to see his reaction, had crossed her mind. Whitney once again thought and re-thought the ways of asking, and the consequences of requesting such a thing. But her last shred of sanity trusted him to never hurt her. For one so violent Jason demonstrated amazing restraint. He threw temper tantrums, threw the objects and kicked things out of his path, but he was always gentle with her. Like he knew he was playing with a delicate porcelain doll and that playing too rough would break his toy.

One day when she first was put down here, terrified beyond realms she thought possible, he had crouched before her and stroked her cheek for softly. In his eyes, hidden by the sack obscuring face, was some demented form of caring, something still human in those eyes.

A horrible nails on chalkboard screeching sound pierced the stale air. Whitney gave an involuntary shriek and leapt back into the wall. He was sharpening his machete again and the teenagers hyperventilating couldn't drown it out. Whitney hugged her knobby knees to her chest and rocked methodically, humming a lullaby her mother had sung to soothe her as a child. She couldn't remember the comforting words, but the melody played in her head on a loop.

Jason stopped for a moment and listened to her, looking over to his captive. She was crying, pretty face contorted in pain. When the lullaby tapered off she burst into hysterics, sobbing and begging for her mother and someone named Clay. Jason peddled to her when the girl started choking for air, her eyes glistening with tears. The large man placed strong hands on her slim shoulders.

Whitney snapped back to reality, blurred vision on him. Her senses screamed 'danger impending' at her, but the natural need for other human beings overrode it. She gave a desperate cry and collapsed against his chest. He was surprisingly warm, firm, and real.

"Jason, Jason, Jason." She babbled through her whimpers.

Even in her own ears it sounded pathetically broken. She hated it. Whitney had always been strong, a rock for her mom and brother. She never cried, no matter how much she hurt she didn't cry. Jason had easily changed that, and she hated him for it. She hated him for forcing her to live in torment and fear when her family needed her.

The girl sagged in the killer's unsure embrace, falling to her exhaustion. He gently lowered her weakened body to the cement floor, brushing a strand of greasy hair from her forehead. Jason clicked open the locket and stared at the photo inside before closing it. He returned to sharpening his knife, knowing he would never turn it on the poor creature he'd saved from an unkind world.

To keep her—and his mother's—beauty safe he'd lock her away, protected from the bad people.

Jason stood and turned to leave, glancing back at her huddled form. He dropped his machete and pounded up the stairs with excitement. The man returned with something bundled in his arms. He draped the quilt from his bed over the girl and placed his teddy bear in the gap between her folded arms.

She snuggled into the stuffed animal, murmuring a tentative thank you. He gazed down at her and nodded sharply, leaving to investigate the ringing bells disturbing his world below…


End file.
